


Always

by unicornwarrior



Series: Song!Fics [1]
Category: Smosh
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Sad, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:51:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornwarrior/pseuds/unicornwarrior
Summary: We’ve been here before a few times 
 Sometimes, Ian wishes that he’d gone down a different road. That he’d have somehow managed to convince his mother to send him to the catholic private school instead of the public one, that he’d never met the guy with the dark hair and the warm eyes.    And I'm quite aware we're dying





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dream_addicted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_addicted/gifts).



> Hi everyone! 
> 
> So this is basically one of the infamous procrastination pieces that I write to postpone having to work on my more serious original stuff. While writing this thing, I kind of had the thought to turn this into a series: Basically, what happens is that I put my iPod on shuffle and write a oneshot on the first song that comes on. Number one just so happens to be the beautiful 'Always' by blink 182. 
> 
> Please don't blame me for this, I'm a mess and I have too much time and too many feelings. 
> 
> I also know that it's kind of a stretch to be jumping from the bandom straight into...YouTube? But I'm just going with the flow - so I really hope you like this. 
> 
> I'd be stoked to get all kinds of comments, so don't be shy! 
> 
> Love, M

_We’ve been here before a few times_

Sometimes, Ian wishes that he’d gone down a different road. That he’d have somehow managed to convince his mother to send him to the catholic private school instead of the public one, that he’d never met the guy with the dark hair and the warm eyes. 

That they’d have never met in seventh grade when the other boy was quickly jotting down his homework before their math teacher would burst into the room, almost boiling with rage over some prank that he himself had pulled – and Ian had basically saved the boy from being escorted to the principal’s office by making up a quite impressively elaborate lie on the spot. 

That this all wouldn’t have happened, that he’d gone to college to live a happy, ordinary white-picket-fence life instead of – whatever the hell this is. 

_And I’m quite aware we’re dying_

However, the second that he lets these thoughts possess his mind, guilt starts washing over him in tidal waves. Guilt over the fact that he would seriously doubt the man he loves, the man who has been there for him for as long as he can remember, even back when Ian had that horrendous bowl haircut. 

No, he thinks, he fucking loves him. 

_And your hands, they shake with goodbyes_

However, Ian isn’t the only one who sometimes doubts the love of his life; isn’t the only one of the two consumed with doubt, consumed by craving for safety, a solitary lifestyle without any kind of risk. 

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Ian,” says the boy who is now a man, his face buried in his hands. There’s unmistakeable stubble on his chin, a sign that he hasn’t been taking very good care of himself – courtesy of all the nights spent hunting for jobs and fighting loudly; then making up even more loudly. “I can’t stand all this fighting.” 

_And I’ll take you back if you’d have me_

“I don’t think that you know what the fuck you’re saying, Anthony,” says Ian, his lips thin and his eyes blazing. Anger is apparent in them, even though Ian knows it’s hypocritical to be angry at Anthony for doubting their relationship – he does it all the time, every day, every single night. 

They’ve had this conversation before; the two of them. Somehow, though, it’s always ended up with one of them caving in, telling the other one in long, rambling sentences how much he loved him. 

Is this one of those nights? 

_So here I am, I’m trying_

“I know exactly what I’m saying, Ian,” says Anthony, and he just sounds so broken, so heartbreakingly sad, and Ian’s throat closes up. 

He’s serious. 

“I know what I’m saying because I don’t know anymore,” he tells Ian. “You know I love you more than I love anything else in the world, you know I love you more than I probably should.” Ian can’t see Anthony’s eyes, they’re hidden behind his ridiculously long fringe, but he can see the imprints of his lashes through the curtain-like strands. He can’t look away, even though he wants to, so, so fucking badly. He doesn’t want to look at Anthony when he does this.  
When his tears out his heart and stomps all over it without even meaning to, all while apologising for doing it. 

_So here I am, are you ready?_

And all that Ian wants to do is reach out and touch one last time, is to tell Anthony that this doesn’t have to be what it seems like, that this isn’t going to end up being a tragedy rather than a comedy. 

Their lives were supposed to be nothing more than a romantic comedy – they were supposed to spend their days happy, almost blissful, and silently in love while the rest of the world stops and stares, awed by how profoundly the love between the two of them runs. 

_Come on, let me hold you, touch you, feel you, always_

“God Ian, I don’t want to break up with you,” says Anthony, and he finally, fucking finally lifts his head out of his hands, running his finger through his hair so that Ian can see his eyes more clearly now, the view no longer obscured. Anthony looks so desperate, so otherworldly sad. 

_Kiss you, taste you all night, always_

This is when something inside of Ian’s mind snaps. 

“Then fucking _don’t_ , Anthony,” he says, and he sounds so dangerously, dangerously quiet when he speaks. His words are calm, measured drops of venom spat into the air as Anthony sits, looking sad. 

He looks so sad. 

He’s looked sad for a long time now, Ian thinks, but he’s never said anything. 

_And I’ll miss your laugh, your smile_

“Don’t throw this away! Don’t throw away something good just because you’re fucking scared, Anthony,” Ian continues. He can’t help it, his voice keeps getting louder and louder until he’s almost yelling out the last words, almost screaming them as if to ensure that they get through Anthony’s thick, thick skull. 

“Because you’re always scared, and you always think that you have to protect me and keep yourself from telling me what the hell is bothering you when I can clearly see that there is _something_!” 

Anthony blinks, very slowly and – almost infuriatingly calmly – puts his head in his hands again, burying himself deep so that Ian can’t see his eyes anymore. The broken-glass eyes that he’s grown to love so much over the years; that haven’t lost their magic at all. 

_I’ll admit I’m wrong if you’d tell me_

“Because this is not what you expected, not by far,” Ian continues, not caring that Anthony looks like he’s had enough, like he’s about to shatter into tiny little pieces. Ian normally doesn’t get loud. Ian never yells, always tries not to hurt his boyfriend. But that’s what got them into this mess in the first place, their inability to speak ugly truths aloud. 

“Because this is not the glamorous fucking life that you wished for, with a white picket fence and a wedding ring and five adopted fucking children from Africa.” Now, Ian thinks, it’s getting out of control. His mouth is talking on its own accord, not even asking for permission as the words just simply flow like a waterfall. “Newsflash, Anthony, you shouldn’t have started anything with me in the first place if what you wanted was stability, if what you wanted was a perfect little life in a perfect little world with a perfect little wife. You should’ve stayed the hell away from me in the first place if that’s what you were looking for.”  
Ian gulps, but the venom in his mouth hasn’t quite emptied out. 

“Because I can’t give you stability, I can’t give you an easy life,” he says. His voice has been quieting down more and more, building its way into a steady decrescendo until he’s almost whispering the last words. 

“But I can give you my heart.” 

_I’m so sick of fights, I hate them_

Anthony finally looks up, his eyes glazed over and watery. 

They stare at each other for a long, long time, striking blue eyes into warm brown ones, like sand and sea moving together. Ian desperately tells himself that he won’t back down, won’t try to take back all that he’s said. Won’t try to pussy out when it gets tough. Not this time. 

And then, suddenly, in a blur of colours, Ian feels lips against his own, pressing warmly and insistently. 

_Let’s start this again for real_

Their kiss lasts for seconds and minutes and hours and days and small eternities. They move together like they are so used to doing, like their bodies know each other so well that they know exactly how much pressure to apply where, where to put their hands, how to breathe. 

As Ian’s hands settle on the familiar expanse of the skin in Anthony’s neck, all of his anger washes away, the antidote to the venom in his mouth coming from Anthony himself who is pulling Ian closer and closer, so close that it seems like he wants to crush the smaller one’s body against his. 

And Ian remembers, remembers why he puts himself through this affliction every single day, why he lets Anthony torture him and why he accepts that he is torturing Anthony just as badly – because this, whatever the hell this is, is something so rare, so pure, so fragile that they’d be completely crazy to waste it. 

_So where are you, I’m trying_

“I could never leave you, Ian,” says Anthony between kisses, and then his lips are on Ian’s again. And his hands are gripping the back of his head and they’re pulling him closer, closer until there’s no air between them and they’re breathing each other, holding on like they’re each other’s air, each other’s oxygen. 

_Where are you, are you ready?_

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Anthony whispers frantically, “I’m so sorry. I just get so scared that this is all becoming too much, that we’re drifting apart because we’re too close.” 

Ian nods slowly, trying to take in Anthony’s words, make sense of them. 

“I couldn’t,” he says, voice cracking, “I couldn’t fucking live without you.” 

“Anthony,” Ian croaks out, because there’s no other word in his vocabulary at the moment. “Anthony,” he repeats, trying his best to pull the other one even closer, to somehow make the space left between them ever tinier. 

_Come on, let me hold you, touch you, feel you, always_

“Ian,” says Anthony. 

“Don’t leave me.” 

It’s funny how, just seconds ago, Anthony was the one who was about to leave. 

But that’s the way the two of them work. That’s the way they are, always have been and always will be. Two hearts that beat so alike, to minds that have merged into one, two halves of the same sandwich. 

There is nothing that could ever part Anthony and Ian – except maybe their own stupidity. 

Anxiety sometimes hits either of them (mostly Anthony, because he’s scared of speaking his mind) and this is the result of it, a heated fight followed by a desperate making-up, a kiss that speaks more than what their mouths could ever say. 

_Kiss you, taste you all night, always_

“I love you, Anthony.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Always?” 

“Always.” 

_Always…_


End file.
